Chapter Thirty-four
Poppy and Winston stayed inside of Hell until the sounds of fighting had died down and Ian walked into the room. Bathed in sweat and blood, he’d wrapped a kilt about his lean frame but wore nothing else. Proof that he’d fully turned to face Lena. He was the only lycan with the skill, and it gave him a tremendous advantage.
“Is it done?” Win asked for Poppy.
Ian’s chest lifted and fell in a light rhythm. “No.” He cursed roundly. “She got away.”
Poppy stiffened in Win’s arms and turned around to fully face Ian. “What do you mean?”
“She pulled some bloody spider trick and fell apart on me just before the killing blow.” He wrenched a hand through his hair. “Turned into spiders and scattered to the four bloody winds.” He scowled as if still picturing the act. “Haven’t seen her do that before.”
“We are familiar with the trick,” said Win.
Poppy’s heart raced. Lena alive. She did not know how to feel about it. Ian’s blue gaze burned into her. “I should be after her soon. But I wanted to know what she said. Anything that might help Jack.”
Poppy sighed. “She hadn’t meant for things to go that way with Talent.” She held up a staying hand. “It does not condone it, nor did she try to. Only that what happened to Talent wasn’t her intention. The Nex had the greater hand in this.”
Ian said a few harsh words in Gaelic before giving Poppy a terse nod. “Regardless, I’ll be hunting her down soon enough. I’ll have my own answers from the wee bitch.”
“I will not stop you, Ian,” Poppy said. “I only ask that you wait until later. There are things I must discuss with my sisters.” She leaned against Win, unable to stop from doing so. “Daisy will need you.”
Ian grunted. “Aye, well, let’s get on with it.” He hesitated and looked at Win. “The rest of the clan has gone.”
Win laughed shortly. “Lovely of you to worry about my tender feelings, but I live in your bloody house, Ian.” His expression darkened. “And there are far worse things to haunt me than wolves.”
Winston sat quietly in Poppy’s office at the SOS. Ian had gone to collect the family, and Poppy was off readying herself to confront her sisters with the truth. Before she had gone, she had shown him this little section of her life. Even though his initial reaction had been one of hurt, the same hurt that invaded him whenever he thought of the other life she’d hidden away from him, her tidy yet comfortable office carried her scent and was imbued with the feel of her in a way that had him growing still and thoughtful. She’d asked him before if he’d ever forgive her. Sitting in her chair, he touched her files, stroked the smooth polish of her desk, and followed the path of a crack along the ceiling plaster with his eyes. She was more like him than he’d ever imagined.
Before, he’d felt a connection to her on a level that was instinctual and had appreciated her quick mind and strong opinions. Now he knew with every fiber of his being that she was his. Not as a possession, but his in a way that made him who he was. Take Poppy out of the equation, and he was all wrong, an uncompleted work. He’d thought he’d known his wife all these years. Now? Now he understood his wife.
Needing to see her, he rose from the chair, but the door opened. Mr. Smythe, Poppy’s secretary—which might have been one of Win’s biggest shocks—walked in. The older man was stiff, pale, and proper.
“Mr. Smythe,” Win said as the man simply stood in the entrance, his collar sharp and his suit unwrinkled. “How may I be of service?”
Mr. Smythe closed the door behind him before leaning against it in a lazy manner. A smile eased over his sharp features, and Win’s blood ran cold.
“You,” Win said.
“Me? Mr. Lane?” Smythe came away from the door with elegant grace. “You do sound rather accusatory.”
Win’s hands curled into fists. “Good. I am accusing. What the bloody hell do you want now, Jones?”
Jones chuckled and then sat in the chair placed in front of Poppy’s desk. “I suppose there is no fooling you.”
“I do not believe you’ve really tried.” Win did not want to sit. Nor did he want to stand like a ninny while Jones stared up at him through the eyes of Mr. Smythe. So he sat, planting his feet and keeping his arms loose at his sides so that he might move quickly should the need arise. “What now?”
Jones ignored the question and looked about Poppy’s office with idle ease. It made Win’s skin prickle. Jones did not belong here. Unfortunately, Win did not have a way to get him the hell out. When Jones had finished his perusal, he turned back to Winston. “Did you kill my colonel?”
“Your colonel?” Win’s pulse thudded dully against his neck.
“His soul was mine, thus he was mine.”
The look in Jones’s eyes was telling. By logic, Winston was also his. Win swallowed down his nausea. “I rather thought that you killed the colonel.” Of course, they now knew it had been Lena’s doing. Win had to be careful, and so he glared at Jones with hard accusation. A little deflection could not hurt his cause.
“Kill him?” Jones scoffed. “He was a gift for you. A nice little breadcrumb to help you along the trail.”
Win leaned forward and laced his fingers together. “You know, you could simply tell me what you want. It is an easy thing, really.”
Jones snorted then went back to glancing about Poppy’s office. “Do you know I am one of the SOS’s top criminals, so to speak? They’ve been trying to be rid of me since their inception.” His smile grew tighter. “Which is really rather tedious. They ought to revere me. Gods have tried to destroy me and failed. And yet this ragtag band of do-gooders thinks they can do better.”
“Is that what bothers you about Poppy?” Win settled further into his chair, as if he wasn’t twitching with the need to strike Jones down at that moment. “That she managed to imprison you?” Poppy was the key to this. The thought both gave Win a chill of terror and left him with a small window of hope.
A small flame appeared to flare in each of Jones’s irises. “You know, that is precisely what bothers me about Poppy Ann Ellis Lane.”
“Mmm.” Winston ran his thumb along the edge of his chair arm before looking up. “You give her too much power by seeking this revenge.”
In an instant, the room grew several degrees hotter as Jones growled low in his chest.
Win watched him as one watches a mad dog, waiting for the inevitable strike. “Who are you? Really?”
“Nothing your small human mind could comprehend.” Pale, veiny hands slammed onto the desk top and trembled. “When did you plan to tell me you found Moira Darling?”
Bugger. Win’s pocket watch ticked overloud as they stared each other down. “But you don’t want Moira Darling,” he said finally. “You want what she stole.”
“Come now, Lane, you asked for directness. You know very well that he is my son.”
Winston paused and studied the demon. “You’ve been watching us this whole time.” He didn’t know how Jones managed to be everywhere, but it left Win with a foul taste in his mouth.
“Some things I’d rather not witness,” Jones said with a noise of disgust. “You are a fool to believe that by satisfying your wife’s needs you will make her compliant.” His nostrils flared, and another burst of hot air filled the room. “Elemental witches f*ck because they enjoy it, not out of loyalty.”
Win’s hands stayed heavy upon the cold arms of his chair. “Poppy is not Mary Margaret.”
“No,” said Jones, “she’s not.” Without warning, he shot forward and got into Win’s face. “Now tell me, where is my son?”
Win wouldn’t tell him even if Jones were to conjure up a werewolf here and now. “If you’ve been watching, then you ought to know where the boy is.”
Jones bared his teeth in a snarl. His reply was halting and forced. “And you should know that I cannot comprehend his location until a human being willingly presents him to me.”
“How unfortunate,” Win murmured.
Like a snake, Jones struck, catching Winston by the neck. Win scrambled for purchase, his throat locked tight in an agonizing grip. Crimson flooded Jones’s irises. “It appears that you do not take my threat seriously.”
Though Win’s vision had gone spotty and his brain screamed for air, he refused to cower. He glared back at the demon.
Jones hauled Win close enough to feel the heat of his breath and smell the sulfur in it. “I gave you a way out, and now you throw it in my face. For that, I am taking your soul with me as well as your child’s.”
“Bullshit,” Winston ground out. “You cannot—”
“Cannot what? I never said your soul was yours to keep.” He laughed lightly. “Now did I?”
No, he hadn’t. Win had just assumed. His guts rolled as the realization sank in.
Jones’s eyes gleamed, obviously seeing the horror dawn over Winston’s features. “You think to play with the devil and win? Be assured, you are mine, whether you give me my child or not. Taking your soul is child’s play to me. Would you like to see?” The tip of Jones’s finger burned against his forehead, and everything went dark.
Ice cold, then raging heat, flared through him in an instant. Every fiber of his being screamed at once, yet he knew he hadn’t made a sound. Jones’s finger seemed to burrow into his skull, and sharp, blinding pain shot down his center. The touch tugged at his soul, pulling it out of his body and into Jones’s finger. Win lost himself, lost all sense of what he was. Screams and the sharp tang of pure, unending terror surrounded him, growing larger and more violent, until he feared he might shatter. He sobbed, but he had no body, no way of escape. Utter hopelessness filled him. Please. Please.
And then it was gone, and he found himself huddled on the ground. Shaking and covered in sweat, he looked up at the demon standing over him, still wearing the appearance of Mr. Smythe.
“Have I made myself clear?” the demon said.
Win’s teeth chattered, and his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. “F*ck you, Jones.”
Jones grinned, revealing a row of brown and jagged teeth “If you ask again nicely when I take you to Hell, you just might get your wish.” There was a pause in which the air in the room grew thin. Jones’s expression turned almost serene, his voice soft. “You and I both know Poppy will never agree to give me what I want. I need an heir. If I cannot have the boy, then give me Poppy. Do it and you can keep your child, once it’s born, and your life. I’ll allow you that much.”
His child. Win hadn’t expected to have a child. Not after years of Poppy being barren. Her disappointment was his, but he’d been resigned to the notion. Now that he knew that a child grew within her womb, he loved the unknown babe with a fierceness that almost frightened him.
He forced his mouth to work. “Why Poppy?”
“Come now, Lane. You are no fool.” Jones paused, looking, for once, distinctly uncomfortable. “ ’Tis a fair trade, after all. She does not even want the child.”
“Shut up!” Win wouldn’t believe that of Poppy, wouldn’t let Jones drive a wedge between them.
But Jones merely shook his head as if pitying him. “I am her blood. When she is away from me, I can see through her eyes, know her fears. She doubts her ability to rear this child. But you don’t, do you, Lane? Take it, and leave my firstborn to me.”
And all this time, Win had thought Jones followed him. The bloody bastard. Win struggled to rise, but whatever Jones had done to him had left him weak as a babe. “Get out.”
With a shrug, Jones stepped away from the desk and headed again for the door. “You have one more day. The choice is yours, Lane.”
“I will never give her up. Never.” He said it with all the conviction in his heart, but bloody, bloody hell, Jones had him by the cods, and they both knew it.
Jones’s smile was tired, but the gleam in his eyes spoke of victory. “Then you are, as you say, buggered, mate.”